


The Shards of Glass in Your Heart

by Ryzaphelle



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8240561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryzaphelle/pseuds/Ryzaphelle
Summary: Set before the events of Throne of Glass, this work explores the depth of the relationship of the Crown Prince of Adarlan and the Lord of Anielle - soon to be known as the Captain of the Guard. After too many years hiding and denying his feelings, Dorian Havilliard finally confesses his heart's desire to his childhood friend, but the question is; how long will it last with opposition from the court and the challenges that arise through such a forbidden relationship?





	1. The Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> So for a while I had been playing around with the idea that Chaol and Dorian were previously lovers. I mean, it all makes sense right? Chaol revoked his title of Lord of Anielle in order to run back to Rifthold to be with Dorian and I believe his sudden promotion to become Captain of the Guard suddenly turned the tide on their relationship as it was seen as more taboo. Shortly after their break up, Dorian becomes care-free, thus sparking his fascination with women and in this we see his transition into the Fuckboy!Dorian we all come to know at the beginning of the series.

  
  


Dorian Havilliard was fifteen years old when his best friend in the world told him that he was leaving. It was a warm afternoon, his tower’s balcony doors were thrown open to let in the summer heat. The two boys were sprawled about on the floor, staring up at the glass ceiling as birds flew by. They were both silent however, simply content to be in one another’s company.

 

Then Chaol had spoken. “My father’s taking me back to Anielle.”

 

Such simple words that made Dorian sit bolt upright, brow furrowed as he looked down at his friend. “Don’t let him, Chaol. You can’t leave me alone here.” The young Lord sat up also and rubbed his eyes, yet said nothing to counter this. “You can’t let him boss you around any more. You’re eighteen, you can make your own decisions.”

 

In truth, Dorian didn’t want to be left alone with his horrific family - especially his demonic, drooling, five year old brother. Only his mother actually seemed to enjoy his presence apart from Chaol. Yet a smaller part of Dorian knew that  _ that  _ wasn’t really why he didn’t want his friend to leave.

 

“I can’t, Dorian, I can’t” Chaol sighed, then smiled at the Prince. “It won’t be long, I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

Dorian had smiled back, but an ache grew in his chest as a year passed and the Lord had not yet returned.

 

He began distracting himself - with politics, court, and noble ladies. On his birthday, he’d taken a girl by the hand after a dance and led her to an undisturbed part of the castle where he lost himself in the taste of her lips and the sensation of her body against his.

 

Soon all the girls became interested in the young Crown Prince.

 

Dorian was sitting in a council meeting with his father and his advisers when news reached him of the Lord of Anielle’s return. There was no news of his eldest son but Dorian still hoped…

 

“I apologise for my lack of punctuality, your Majesty,” said the Lord, his cape sweeping behind him as he entered the council room.

 

The King merely waved him off and gestured for one of the greying councillors to continue, yet it was Dorian who spoke this time. “Your Grace,” he addressed the Lord. “Might I inquire about you son?”

 

The council watched as the Prince rose from his chair, pinning Lord Westfall with a hopeful sapphire gaze. His father regarded him with a raised eyebrow of amusement yet did not voice this.

 

“I…” the Lord replied with confusion. “Yes...he’s in his rooms-”

 

“Much appreciated, your Grace.” Dorian interrupted as he raced out of the council room as fast as his legs could take, his scarlet cloak billowing out behind him as he ran down glass corridors and slid down stair railings.

 

Once he came to a stop before the door of Chaol’s old rooms - he hoped the young Lord still occupied them - he took a moment to catch his breath before knocking. Wait, why was he knocking? This was his castle, he could just waltz right in if he-

 

When the door opened, he was greeted by eyes of garnet and a smile that rose to meet them. The grin was mirrored on Dorian’s own face as he embraced his friend for what seemed like forever. Breathing in his scent, Dorian’s brow furrowed at the knot in his stomach and gripped Chaol’s shirt tighter.

 

Once again, they ended up sprawled upon the floor as they looked to the glass ceiling and the clouds in the sky. Earlier, they’d had dinner together at court, catching up on lost time and remembering what it was like before Chaol had left. No doubt the young Lord saw the flirtatious looks the courtiers regarded Dorian with, saw what he’d been up to for the past year.

 

“What do you see in those girls, Dorian?” Chaol asked now. “Are they people? Or conquests?”

 

Dorian sighed, fighting the urge to entwine his fingers with those of Chaol’s. “They’re distractions,” he found himself confessing.

 

Huffing out a laugh, Chaol averted his gaze from the sky to sweep it over his friend. “Surely, life here without me wasn’t  _ that  _ boring.”

 

A grim smile appeared on Dorian’s lips, yet he still did not look at Chaol, and the knot in his stomach tightened more so. “It wasn’t that it was boring,” he said honestly. “It’s that you weren’t here. End of story.” Dorian finally turned his eyes to his friend - no, the thoughts that he’d been having weren’t thoughts he should be having about a friend, something that went beyond the boundaries of friendship.

 

Under the intensity of Dorian’s sapphire gaze, Chaol squirmed a little and tried to laugh it off. “You really need to get other friends,” he chuckled.

 

The Prince gave a little laugh also, fingers weaving with Chaol’s, and as he drew closer, he said, “I don’t need other friends,” and kissed him.

  
It wasn’t anything too special, something small and sweet. However, Chaol didn’t kiss him back, so Dorian peeled himself away and sat up. With stained cheeks, Dorian stared elsewhere before saying, “I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have…” He stood and cast one last look at his not-friend - now sat up with equally rosy cheeks - and said, “I think I’ll take my leave now,” before returning to his own rooms.


	2. The Affair

The next day, after another grueling council meeting, Dorian exited through those large glass doors to see Chaol waiting for him outside, leaning against a pillar with his hands unprofessionally stuffed into his pockets. Frozen in place, the Prince tried to decipher why he’d be waiting here - perhaps he wanted to talk about yesterday…

 

“I need to talk to you,” said Chaol, grabbing the Prince’s hand and leading him down the corridor.

 

_ Of course you do,  _ Dorian thought with dread. He’d been stupid to think that Chaol would like him in that way, did he even  _ like  _ men? Brow furrowed, Dorian cursed himself for even hoping. What would he even have acheived through kissing Chaol? Where would they go? Would his father even let him be with the Heir to Anielle?

 

All these thoughts and doubts and questions swam through his mind as Chaol pulled him into a broom closet - yet they were all forgotten once Chaol pressed his lips to Dorian’s.

 

Like their first, it was short and sweet, and the young Lord cradled Dorian’s face in his hand as they watched each other in the darkness of the closet. The next kiss they shared, however, was full of hunger - so many years of admiration spilling out in one single moment. Dorian hooked his arms around Chaol’s neck as he drew the Prince closer with his hands around his waist.

 

When they finally broke away, they were both panting with grins upon their faces. “Good talk,” Dorian stated with a breathy laugh. Planting one more kiss on Chaol’s mouth, he continued, “People might get suspicious if we stay any longer in this closet, though.”

 

In the dark, Chaol began to smirk. “I say, let them talk all they want.” He leaned in again but was stopped by Dorian’s finger upon his lips.

 

“Ah,” Dorian warned. “If my father knew we were in here, he’d beat my ass for sure.”

 

Chaol sighed, “Fine,” before carefully opening the door and sneaking the two of them out.

 

Dorian was grinning to himself the entire night.

 

Turned out that their newly-found infatuation with each other didn’t change much of their original relationship - there was just way more kissing involved. Dorian prided himself on this fact as he and Chaol sparred in the training hall one day.

 

They had the place to themselves, the clash of metal and the rapid intakes of breath the only sound within the enormity of the hall. Rapier in hand, Dorian blocked and parried Chaol’s blows - he’d only admit to himself that he’d gotten lax with sword fighting lately, his interest now held within books.

 

As his mind wandered elsewhere, Dorian’s movements became less attentive and soon he was being backed up against the wall. When he rapier was suddenly torn from his grasp, he yielded and threw up his hands in surrender.

 

Chaol, a triumphant grin upon his face, pressed the tip of his blade to Dorian’s chest. “You’re getting worse,” he stated amusedly.

 

Dorian rolled his eyes and poked the blade away from his chest. “I was distracted by your beauty,” he beamed as Chaol dropped his own rapier pulled the Prince to him. “You are extremely irresistable,” he murmured and ran his hands over Chaol’s shoulders before his fingers trailed up to the nape of his neck and played with the hair there.

 

Chaol captured his lips quickly before replying, “I could say the same for you,” he regarded Dorian mischievously, “except I don’t let that affect me in battle.”

 

They kissed again, savouring each other’s taste and feel.

 

But Dorian had something else in mind.

 

With a hook of his leg, Chaol’s legs were brought out from underneath him and the young Lord fell to the floor. Dorian stood proudly over him with a grin on his face. “What was that about distractions in combat?” he asked innocently. Chaol threw a rude gesture up at the Prince who took pity and held his hand out for Chaol to take. Yet, instead of picking himself up, Chaol yanked Dorian down to join him on the floor.

 


	3. The Vow

**i.**

About a week later, the King was called to address the citizens of Rifthold which also meant that Dorian had to be dragged along as well. As he stood with his father atop a podium surrounded by Adarlanians, the young Prince wished he were somewhere else - preferably in the arms of his friend who simultaneously wasn’t his friend as well.

 

It was hard to describe his and Chaol’s relationship, though. Some would call them lovers, but Dorian wasn’t so sure as he didn’t know if he  _ did  _ love Chaol. Others would refer to it as an affair - after all, the two were keeping it a secret from everyone and Dorian was sure that his mother would try to marry him off at some point…

 

A movement in the crowd below caught his attention, many cloaked figures weaving their way to the base of the podium. Dorian didn’t know if his father had noticed, if he did then he knew the figures weren’t a threat - yet Dorian stiffened anyway.

 

As the King continued to speak, Dorian lost himself to his thoughts again so all of a sudden he started when he heard “Death to the Adarlanian Empire!” and a flash of scarlet coated his vision.

**ii.**

Walking the halls of the glass castle once again, Dorian didn’t know what to feel. His father beside him seemed pleased with himself despite the two of them soaked in animal blood, his guards didn’t even hesitate to shoot the offenders - then  _ those  _ guards were killed for not reacting fast enough.

 

Dorian’s mind was conflicted between hurt and disgust for the protesters. Hurt that they had been steered to this path by the Empire and had been killed for it, and disgusted that they had felt the need to drain an animal of it’s blood in order to send a - quite direct - message to the royal family.

 

_ Well, that message has been seen and ignored,  _ thought Dorian as he and his father turned the corner to find the Queen with young, demonic Hollin.

 

“My goodness!” his mother exclaimed, rushing over to the two of them. She went to embrace her eldest son but thought better of it. “What happened to you two?”

 

The King smirked. “Rebels,” he remarked simply. “They won’t be a problem anymore, though.” And with that, he paced away in the direction of his chambers.

 

Dorian swept his gaze back to his mother - but not before raising an eyebrow at his brother a few feet away gnawing at a table leg - and smiled impishly. “Don’t worry it’s not mine,” he reassured her and she smiled in relief. “Sorry, I can’t talk right now.” He gestured to himself. “I need to take a long bath.”

 

As Dorian walked away to his rooms, Georgina called back, “As you should, dear. No lady would even  _ think  _ to go near you like that.”

 

“Thanks for the confidence boost, mother,” he called as he waved back. 

**iii.**

Almost fully submerged in his bathtub, Dorian closed his eyes in bliss. He breathed in the soothing scent of lavender and basked in what little light the afternoon sun had to offer. After a little while, a smirk appeared on his lips.

 

“I know you’re there, Chaol,” Dorian mused but refused to open his eyes.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

At the young Lord’s serious tone, Dorian looked around to see Chaol standing in the doorway, eyes wide and staring at the bloody clothes and crimson waters. Hastily, Dorian scrubbed at his face to thoroughly rid himself of any more and said, “Don’t worry, Chaol. It’s not mine.” He regarded him gently. “I’m okay,  _ seriously. _ ”

 

Yet Chaol was not relieved - in fact, he seemed more tense. As he held his hand out, Dorian called his name, but the other boy went back into the bedroom in despair. With a sigh, the Prince finished scrubbing and got out, dried himself off, and went to his dressing room for new clothes.

 

When he entered the bedroom again, books and other miscellaneous objects strewn about the chamber, his eyes sought Chaol who sat on his bed, shoulders slumped, and gaze cast off into the distance. Dorian timidly stepped towards him, bare feet padding across his old rug. He leaned against the bedpost with his arms crossed and whispered, “Chaol...it wasn’t your fault.”

 

“It’s not about that,” he replied. “You could have gotten hurt-”

 

“But I didn’t-”

 

“But what if it happens again, Dorian,” he despaired, finally meeting the Prince’s gaze. “What if something even worse happens and I’m not there to protect you.”

 

Dorian was silent for a moment, coming around to step in front of the young Lord. “Look at me, Chaol,” he commanded, but it was not obeyed. “Look at me,” he ordered again, grabbing his chin, forcing his gaze upward. “It’s not your job to protect me.”

 

They both glared at each other for a while, but Dorian was the first to relent, slowly lowering himself to sit in Chaol’s lap to then kiss him upon the mouth. This one was slow and apologetic, the two of them so caught up in worry and what ifs.

 

“I care about you so much,” Chaol whispered against the prince’s lips. “If anything bad were to happen to you…” he left the consequences in the heated air between them, moving his lips over Dorian’s jawline to come to rest at his neck.

 

Dorian’s fingers grasped at Chaol’s jacket as his eyes fluttered shut. Head rolling to the side to make room, Dorian sighed and breathed, “Show me...show me you care.”

 

At this, Chaol’s mouth went back to Dorian’s again, his fingers weaving into the Prince’s raven locks. Then all of a sudden, Dorian was thrown back onto the bed, the young Lord hovering over him as he pulled him into another kiss of desperation. The Prince made quick work of Chaol’s top half, pulling off his jacket then his shirt. It all seemed so much easier compared to what he’d had to do with the noble ladies.

 

Running his hands across Chaol’s smooth skin, Dorian wanted to kiss all of it, mark him with his brand and claim the young Lord as his own. Thankfully, Dorian’s own clothes didn’t take that long to take off either and it was as if he were set aflame as Chaol traced kisses down his chest.

  
“You asked me,” said Chaol huskily, planting a hand on Dorian’s hip to pin it there “to show you how much I care.” Rising to kiss him upon the mouth once more, he met his hazy sapphire gaze. “ _ This  _ is how much I care about you,” he murmured, descending again.


	4. The Confession

**i.**

The next morning, Dorian awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and snoring from the young man asleep next to him. Chaol lay snuggled up to his chest, looking adorable with his messy hair and innocent face. Dorian dragged a hand over his own face as if to wipe of the fatigue and beamed at the events of yesterday evening.

 

Blinking at the sunlight streaming through the window, the prince sighed contently and watched the sun begin its ascent into the sky. At the sudden movement at his side, Dorian looked over to see Chaol blinking dazedly at his surroundings.

 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” the prince murmured, a yawn quick to follow.

 

Chaol propped himself up for a moment, glancing around at his surroundings, then flopped back on the bed. “What time is it?” he half-asked his pillow.

 

“Gods know,” Dorian replied, burying himself deeper into his bed. “I’m surprised we haven’t been woken up by that infernal clock tower yet.”

 

As if on cue, the horrible explosions of the obsidian clock began to sound and Chaol started to laugh. He propped himself up again and tried to lean down for a kiss to which Dorian smacked him back down onto the bed again.

 

“Ew, no, you have morning mouth. Don’t be so disgusting.”

 

At this, Chaol began laughing yet again, jumping on the Prince to steal a kiss. Dorian was chuckling too, the two of them westling amongst the bed sheets.

 

“Let me kiss you, Dorian!”

 

“No, you’re gross!”

 

Then Chaol snatched something off the bedside table and put it on his head, sitting proudly atop the mess of bedding as if he were a king. “I am the Crown Prince, you have to do as I say!”

 

Dorian glared. “Give me back my crown, asshole.” He lunged forward to swipe it off his head but Chaol had already taken it off and now held it far behind him out of reach. The Prince found himself face to face with Chaol who wore a proud smirk as their lips almost touched.

 

“Trade,” the young Lord proposed. “A kiss for the crown.”

 

Sighing, Dorian asked, “Just one?” When Chaol nodded, he closed what little space that was left between them to plant a chaste kiss upon his mouth.

 

Chaol slowly returned the crown, and Dorian took it, returning it to it’s rightful place atop his raven hair. Yet neither of them moved from their current position, so achingly close. Dorian oh so wanted to cross that rift but the knock at the door stopped them both.

 

Little did they know that this knock was the beginning of everything going wrong.

**ii.**

“My father’s taking me back to Anielle.”

 

Those words of which he never wanted to hear again.

 

“Is it even worth me protesting this time?”

 

“No.”

 

The two were sat outside underneath a small tree, Dorian lounging up against the trunk with Chaol’s head in his lap as the Prince’s voice filled the courtyard from the book he was previously reading. Dorian slapped his book shut and laid it to rest on the green grass beside him, leaning his head against the rough bark behind him.

 

Chaol savoured the feel of Dorian’s hand on his face, taking it in his and pressing his lips to the palm. At this point, the pair didn’t even care about what the court would think - it would be no more scandalous than Dorian accidentally fathering a dozen illegitimate heirs.

 

Sighing, Dorian’s head lulled to the side to watch Chaol in the sunlight, a grim smile pulled at his lips. “I think I love you,” he confessed.

 

Suddenly, Chaol’s garnet eyes darted to his, but within those sapphire pools he only saw pure unflinching honesty. The young Lord smiled back. “I think I love you, too,” he replied.

**iii.**

Alone, Dorian sat atop one of the library’s tables - much to the librarian’s chagrin - and flicked through a large and dusty tome about Gavin the First. Reading about his childhood hero brought him ease in the darkness that were his doubting thoughts in a mess of negativity.

 

Chaol had left for Anielle a few hours ago, their goodbye a long and hard one. Hands subconsciously moving to his mouth, Dorian remembered their last passionate kiss that lasted a long while then he was ripped away from him again for Gods know how long.

 

He hated himself for not fighting for him, hated that he let Lord Westfall take his son away from him, hated that he was sitting in this dusty library instead of grabbing a horse and riding after him.

 

Dorian tried to calm his breathing, inhaling the scent of old books and looking towards the mezzanines above. He thought nothing of the doors opening in the distance, nor the footsteps heading his way - probably his father coming to reprimand him for something, like his affair with the Heir to Anielle.

 

“Dorian.”

 

The Prince slowly swept his gaze downwards, then to his left, to see Chaol Westfall standing a few feet away. He had no words.

 

“I revoked my title,” he stated. “I told my father that my brother is now the Heir, that I’m going to stay in Rifthold and join the royal guard.” Chaol took a few tentative steps forward, then scrapped that and strode to the table to pull Dorian into his arms.

 

“You stupid fool,” Dorian cursed between kisses. “You absolute idiot.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Chaol chuckled. “I love you, too.”

 

It seemed as though they spent forever like that, sat on a library table and kissing as if they were about to be ripped apart once more - well, that was the case until the librarian kicked them out.


	5. The Rift

**i.**

“What about this one?” the prince mused as he lifted up a ball of fluff from the hay-strewn floor. Barking filled the air as the prince and his newfound guard sat in the kennels, petting puppies and playing a game of  _ Guess What Stupid Name the Owner of this Dog Will Call it. _

 

It had been almost a year since Chaol had given up his title and trained for the royal guard, at least like this, they had excuses the be around each other - although, virtually no excuses for finding a guard in the Prince’s bed.

 

“Fluffy,” Chaol mused.

 

Dorian, unamused, put the dog down and gave him a pointed look. “You’re awful at this game,” the Prince stated, picking up another puppy.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“That’s what you guessed for the previous  _ three  _ dogs.”

 

The guard shrugged. “It’s a good name,” he noted, then added, “Common, too.”

 

The Prince rolled his eyes and held up the puppy to talk to it. “Is Chaol stupid? Yes, he is! Yes, he is!” The puppy just blinked at him and he sighed. “Chaol, I think you and Fluffy the Sixth Billionth here would make good friends.” He turned the puppy so it’s sad eyes looked at the guard. “You’re both boring, and scowl a lot.”

 

At this, he earned a scowl.

 

Chuckling, Dorian set about trying to cover himself in sleeping puppies. “It’s my birthday soon. What are you going to get me?”

 

Chaol snorted. “How about myself sprawled on your bed wearing nothing but a fancy red bow around my neck?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “With a hoard of puppies.”

 

“Fantastic.”

 

Dorian’s birthday did not disappoint.

**ii.**

But the month following it did.

 

“I’ve been promoted.”

 

Despite this, Dorian sill savoured the sensation of Chaol’s fingers in his hair. He leaned his head against his warm chest and hummed his approval - the only other sound the occasional dip of the bath tap. He held Chaol’s other hand in his, submerged beneath the hot water.

 

“They want me as Captain of the Guard.”

 

At this, Dorian sat up and turned around to face his guard fully. “Well done,” he said at first, but Chaol’s serious look caused him to worry. “What’s the matter? Do you not want it?”

 

The guard shook his head, a grim smile upon his lips. “I do want it, and it’s actually very important to me...I’m just scared of what it’s going to do to us.”

 

The Prince pursed his lips then leaned forward and kissed him softly, leaning his forehead against Chaol’s afterwards. “Don’t worry too much about it. I love you, alright?”

 

Chaol nodded and kissed him back, murmuring his promise against his lips.

**iii.**

Dorian watched as the blossoms delicately floated to the grassy ground of which he and Chaol stood upon. There was a vast silence between them, much like the rift Chaol had torn not two minutes ago in this garden of serenity and peace.

 

“What changed your mind?” Dorian asked finally with a defeated tone.

 

The Captain of the Guard sighed, wished he had something to lean on as a crutch. “I...I can’t be your lover and the Captain of your father’s guard.”

 

Dorian simply nodded at this, not trusting his voice.

 

“My main objective is to protect the King, I can’t do that when the only thing on my mind is you.” They stared at each other for a while as if returning all those memories together to their rightful owners. Dorian felt as if a hole had been ripped into him, a huge piece in the jigsaw of his life torn away and lost forever. “I love you, Dorian,” Chaol almost pleaded. “Always remember that.”

 

“I understand,” the Prince choked out, turning away. “Goodbye, Chaol.”

 

Thankfully, his mother was holding court. She was surprised when he arrived, confused because her son hardly ever visited court. Oh, how the ladies had swooned at his presence - it made him feel wanted again.

 

“Who is that brunette in the red dress, Mother?” he had asked as he lounged next to the Queen on her throne.

 

“Hmm?” She squinted at the courtiers to find the girl in question. “Oh! That’s Lady Rosamund, daughter of a wealthy merchant here in Rifthold. Why do you ask?”

 

Dorian stepped from his own throne to the sea of swirling dresses and pungent perfumes. “Just curious,” he stated as he made his way towards her.


	6. The End and the Beginning

**i.**

After the heartbreaking trauma that was Lady Rosamund, Dorian began to lose himself more and more in the bodies of noble women - and sometimes not even those well-born. One particularly melancholy afternoon, the Wolf of the North picked the Prince up and dragged him to a tavern in one of the far corners of Rifthold.

 

At first, Aedion Ashryver acted as a wingman for the young Prince as they prowled the streets of the capital. One lucky night they both found sport in the arms of a couple of redheaded twins when the Captain of the Guard appeared and Dorian was thrown out into the alleyway.

 

“Why are you such an idiot?” Chaol said, shaking his head as he paced in front of the Prince.

 

Dorian leaned against the side of the building, the rough brick irritating his bare skin - somehow, he’d lost his shirt in his drunken haze. “I’m eighteen,” he slurred. “I’m allowed to be an idiot.” Mischievously, he grinned and Chaol had to look away. “I have a new fascination with alcohol, girls, and Aedion Ashryver,” he listed on his fingers.

 

“And all those things could kill you, Dorian,” the Captain sneered. “You’re the crown prince for Gods sake,  _ act  _ like it.” Chaol felt as if he were shouting at a misbehaving child and hated himself for it, yet how could he protect him when the Prince was lost in dark alleyways and disreputable slums?

 

All of a sudden, a chuckle escaped the lips of the young man, who was also partially unclothed, which then turned into a full blown laugh. “Gods, Chaol!” he cried. “You’re not my parents!”

 

Chaol blushed. “Look, I know that you’re doing this because of me-”

 

“You?” Dorian laughed even more, clutching his side. “No, Chaol.” He straightened. “This is me embracing my privilege to get what I want.”

 

“What you want?” Chaol snorted. “The Dorian that I kno-”

 

“The Dorian that you know is stood right in front of you,” the Prince said sternly, pushing off the wall to come face to face with Chaol. All laughter had been stripped of his features now as he stared up at the Captain, his arms crossed over his golden chest. “You broke me, Chaol,” he murmured. “Then I was broken again by Rosamund.” He was so close now that he could feel his breath on his face. “It’s best that I break others before I shatter completely.”

 

With that he turned away to walk back into the tavern, yet Chaol’s hand snatched his arm.

 

“Let me go,” he said weakly.

 

“I thought I could stop loving you,” Chaol blurted and Dorian simply stared at the floor, another crack in his glass skin. “I thought I could let you go but I can’t...And seeing you destroy yourself like this? It hurts that it’s my fault as to why.”

 

Dorian sighed through his nose and his arm was released. He hated himself that he couldn’t say no, that the thread binding them together was seemingly uncuttable, that he turned around and grabbed Chaol by the front of his shirt to pull him down for one last kiss.

 

It seemed to go on forever, his mouth against Chaol’s, full of agony and heartbreak as a piece of his soul was ripped out and fed to the demons growing inside of him. Chaol tugged him closer and he knew they should stop, but Dorian wanted to mend himself despite the pain that this moment was causing him.

 

Then it was over, lips parting, foreheads touching, cracks splintering.

 

Dorian closed his eyes, stepped out of the warmth of Chaol’s arms, and let him go.

**ii.**

Now Aedion was not just a wingman.

 

_ No attachments,  _ they’d both vowed as they kissed. For Dorian, this was a new distraction, something to immerse himself in until the cracks in the glass healed. Aedion was alone, too. After neither of them were able to secure a lady during the festival of Melissande, they both decided to hook up one night.

 

Then ‘one night’ became many nights. Whenever the two of them were unsuccessful, they turned to each other but even that phase died away when Aedion had to return to Terrasen.

**iii.**

Thankfully, Dorian’s relationship with Chaol began to heal as they found less comfort in romantic love and traded it for brotherly admiration like how it used to be many,  _ many  _ years before. Before long, it was as if they’d completely forgotten about what they’d shared together. For now, they were content to simply be in each other’s company, be it sprawled on the floor looking at the sky or making eye contact from across the room whenever Duke Perrington spoke.

 

Well, that was the case until one notorious assassin came along to ruin it all.


End file.
